Ben was sitting alone on a creaky wooden stool at the edge of the river, one hand idly swinging his fishing net into the almost still waters and the other stroking his beloved Labrador, Daphne. The lone eyes wandered far into the misty shadowed horizon, searching for nothing.
This very usual day seemed strangely unusual to Ben in many ways. He was a lone person in his early fifties, living far away from the hustle and bustle of the city in his own secluded cottage house. Otherwise content in his farming and reading books, the only passion he loved to indulge in was gazing out into the distant planets, trying to fathom its finiteness in the infinity. Not that he was an astrophysicist or even a stargazer. But he felt he could feel a signal now and then as if expecting something, though none of his neighbors could fathom what.
‘Bizarre Ben,’ they would call him. He had no friends save his much-adored pet. Together they went out on strolls and occasionally on a fishing spree.
The class was over. She was supposed to go now. To home. To that place where a man thinks he is the king. That he can do anything, he wants. And the woman who shared the home with him was only his slave. A toy, which was compelled to do anything he wished. And be his punching bag when he was angry. He was the breadwinner, right? Who brings food to the table? Him! She should be thankful. Those three brilliant daughters of her, whose blood does they carry? His! She couldn’t even write ABCD, for God’s sake! And if he brings a few other women home, it is SHE who is to be blamed. That boring woman! Always nagging about not having enough money to run the family. If he brings a few others home, it is SHE who is to be blamed. A man has needs, doesn’t he? Needs she is too old to fulfil.
Yes, she has to get back to that home. That man loves him. That man loves his blood. [আরো পড়ুন]